


Shocking: Part 2 - Computing

by Celebratory Penguin (cpenguing)



Series: Shocking [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cpenguing/pseuds/Celebratory%20Penguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second in the "Shocking" series. Follows Season One finale, "The Great Game." John is shocked by what happens after Sherlock pulls the trigger, but that's nothing compared to the shock he experiences when they get home. Slash. "Computing" takes place immediately after "Shocking."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shocking: Part 2 - Computing

SHOCKING  
Part 2: Computing

 _"Come on, John," Sherlock wheedled. "Show me something shocking."_

Sherlock didn't consider himself a sensitive man by any stretch of the imagination.

Because he dealt in rational thought, he struggled when an overload of pure, hedonistic sensory information ricocheted around his finely-tuned mind. There was no partition of his hard drive that could catalog John's husky voice coaxing him to orgasm, no means to categorize how it was John's hand in his hair that had brought him over the edge, no logical explanation for the fact - the clear, unarguable fact - that John had managed to pleasure him in ways he could never have done on his own.

That John knew him better than he did himself did not, could not, would not ever compute..

Sherlock turned all of these concepts over in his brain whilst stroking along the edge of John's jaw. For all his vanities - and Sherlock knew there were good reasons for each of them - he hated his weak jawline. John's was much better. It moved as John let out a slow sigh.

"If that's supposed to make me forget that I'm horny," John murmured, "it's a complete failure."

Knowing that his touch was keeping John aroused...well, that simply blew out every circuit in Sherlock's mental processor. He let his lips curl upward in a Cheshire Cat smile. "I seldom experience failure - only a different form of success."

John let out a surprised bark of laughter. "Sherlock, why are you still on my bed?"

"Post-orgasmic lassitude. And curiosity."

"I'm going to regret this," John sighed as he rolled over to face Sherlock, "but curiosity about what?"

"You're curious that I'm curious?"

"Stop that."

Sherlock adjusted himself so that he could still cup John's face in his hand. "You were surprised when I told you that I can't bring myself to orgasm. Your surprise indicated that you are able to do that successfully for yourself, and your ability to use that knowledge to my advantage proved your skill. Now I would like to see you apply those skills to your own...impressive...needs."

John's face turned a becoming shade of scarlet. "You mean you were serious? You really want to watch me masturbate?"

"Or I could help, as I told you earlier." The immediate look of panic on John's face took Sherlock by surprise. "What? You helped me. And you said that in the army..." He turned on his 'sad Sherlock face,' the one that made John do the shopping and wash the dishes. "You did something kind for me - why is it wrong that I'd want to return the favor?"

John wasn't buying into the look or the words. Sherlock was a little proud of him, even though that would mean finding a new weapon of manipulation. John stared him down. "Sherlock, just say you think it'd be interesting and be done with it."

"It would be endlessly fascinating."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, John pulled the duvet down past his hips and flopped onto his back. He lay spread-eagled on the bed, one thigh brushing tantalizingly against Sherlock's. "Right, then. Pass me that tube, would you?"

Surprised to find that his hands trembled a bit, Sherlock found the lubricant and handed it to John. John smeared some between his palms, then grinned. "Bring back memories?"

"Shut up." Sherlock watched wide-eyed as John ran the back of his fingers over his own nipples and downward in a v-shape toward his pelvis, then up again. The gesture was foreign yet intriguing. "Does that help?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, I swear to God..."

"Tell me!"

John groaned. "It's called the milk line. Groin to axilla. Most people are...quite responsive." He stopped over his nipples, palms hovering just above the hardening flesh.

"So that's a sensitive area for men, as well?"

"Don't want to talk just now," John grumbled.

"Sorry." But he wasn't, not at all, not as John repeated the movement a few more times then reached downward with a long sigh. A few more synapses fired helpelessly through Sherlock's brain when John grasped his erection and began to pump firmly and rhythmically. Was that what his own penis had looked like, swollen and purplish, with a few drops of silvery fluid leaking over the head? Had his face and chest been flushed pink? Had his nipples been as hard as John's?

Sherlock experimented along his own chest and abdomen. Nothing. Damn. He looked over at John and found the dark blue gaze fixed on him with amusement but also...was that compassion? Why?

To Sherlock's surprise, John ran his free hand down Sherlock's body from the top of the pectoral muscle to the rise of his hip. Fire scorched every nerve. Sherlock shut his eyes, revelling in the pleasant sensation of fullness between his legs that remained even when John's hand fell away. It was a response worth cataloguing, and would be a remarkably interesting experiment to perform on John...

John's voice, little more than a harsh gasp, broke into his reverie. "If you want to watch...better get ready..."

The husky tone sent a further jolt through Sherlock's entire body. He snapped his eyes open just in time to watch John's hand speed up until it almost blurred, just in time to hear a breath drawn between tightly clenched teeth.

John's back arched, head and heels firmly anchored to the mattress, hips thrusting wildly. He groaned softly, and again, and on the third wonderful, impossibly intimate sound he came all over his hand and stomach.

Before Sherlock had time to process what he had seen, John was already cleaning himself off and pulling the duvet snugly up to his chest with a satisfied sigh. Sherlock blinked slowly at him. "Is that all?"

"What?"

Sherlock was seldom at a loss for words, but this situation had struck him nearly aphasic. He waved one hand in a vague circle outlining John's relaxed body.

"Sherlock, what the hell...?"

He didn't know how to express it. Something like sadness washed over him, that John had been so efficient and guarded while Sherlock had been almost wanton. Wasn't it supposed to be more pleasurable? Shouldn't there have been a loss of control, something other than a smothered gasp?

His confusion must have been obvious because John suddenly gave him "that" smile, the indulgent one. "You were expecting a bit more of a show."

Fidgeting with the bedcovers, Sherlock forced himself to look John in the eye. "Is that how you always do it? So quickly? And quietly?"

"What did you expect - tearing up the sheets and screaming?"

That was exactly what Sherlock had expected, or at least some writhing interspersed with groans of pleasure. "I've seen you sneeze with more enthusiasm," Sherlock groused.

"Listen to me." John curved his body so that he was resting against Sherlock's side. "I'm not used to taking a lot of time doing this. I'm certainly not accustomed to having an audience. The army, then the hospital, then this flat with you always wandering about - I got used to taking care of my needs 'quickly and quietly,' as you just described it." He slipped one arm over Sherlock's chest. The warmth of his palm seemed to seep directly into Sherlock's heart. "Plus, I was fairly wound up when I started."

Finally, something that made sense. "So you do feel significant enjoyment - it's the particular circumstances that can sometimes affect the duration and-"

"Seriously, Sherlock, could you please shut up now?" John wriggled further into the bedclothes. "I had a nice buzz going before you began analyzing the last ten minutes of my night."

"That was never ten minutes."

"Shut up."

Sherlock searched John's face for clues. The flush had dissipated but there was perspiration on John's forehead and upper lip, and a little bit at the hollow of his throat. His mouth was relaxed, lips slightly parted, and his breathing was beginning to deepen and even out. The expressive eyes were closed.

"John, are you falling asleep?"

A sigh, a fluttering of the dark-gold eyelashes, and suddenly John was staring him down with vengeance written across his face. "In the past half-hour I've tended your needs and let you watch me tend mine, whilst giving lectures in anatomy and human sexuality to, frankly, a fairly annoying pupil. Would it be completely unreasonable for me to ask you, please, to give me some peace?"

"You're rather cross for a man who's just gotten off," Sherlock remarked.

"I get sleepy when I climax. I get cranky when I'm deprived of my sleep. Do the math, Sherlock."

A few minutes of silence were all Sherlock could endure, particularly when his curiosity was so piqued. "Was it good? I mean, it didn't take long or last long, so perhaps it didn't feel-"

"I came. I'd been on the edge, it didn't take much to push me over, and when I did I guarantee you that it felt just fine."

"So," Sherlock continued after only half-listening to John's explanation, "it aroused you. Touching me aroused you?"

John groaned then, but it was not the type of vocalization that had been in Sherlock's fantasy. "I had my hands all over you, and you came all over me. How could that not get me horny?" He pulled back the covers, exposing both of their nude bodies. "You don't even like sex and you're hard as a rock from watching me."

It was almost a surprise. Sherlock glanced down the length of his body. His erection seemed as if it belonged to someone else - or it would have, if he had not been overcome with a wave of pure need that melted his motherboard.

A puerile joke about hard drives died on Sherlock's lips.

No longer half-asleep, John was looking up and down Sherlock's nude form with an expression that could only be called predatory. "Know what, Sherlock?" John murmured. "I think it's time for you to do the teaching."

Sherlock swallowed audibly, no longer in control of a single atom in his body. By the time John had leaned over him, his face mere inches from Sherlock's, there was no hope of a simple reboot; the entire infrastructure was about to be reconstructed.

John's smile was full of promises. "Put on a show for me."


End file.
